Of Monsters and Men
by MB234
Summary: Frank Castle/Reader; Frank is on a standard mob hit when he encounters an unexpected surprise... Violence throughout the chapter and possible smut later. May become a multiple part story, please comment if you like! Frank/Reader smut
1. Chapter 1

The first time Frank saw you his thoughts were anything but friendly.

 _This place is a shit hole._ Frank had been in some real dumps, sites that both time and man had forgotten, but this inconspicuous looking building had to take the cake. As a fresh assortment of god awful stenches washed over him, he had to fight the nearly overwhelming urge to gag, pondering for the hundredth time in recent memory what exactly had transformed this city he used to be proud of into a putrid stinking pit of filth. It was times like this that he almost wanted to call it quits- he'd smelled one too many flavors of excrement tonight for his own liking- but then he'd remind himself that this mission he was on wasn't about him, not really. It was about _them_. Russian mobsters, truly evil men. They were significantly less active in Hell's Kitchen these days, but they still skulked in the shadows. And boy did they love their human trafficking.

Red had actually tipped him off to this site, apparently the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was too preoccupied to squish this particularly nasty bug, but Frank also suspected that on some level, conscious or not, he recognized that these men needed The Punishers specific brand of justice, the one where he knocks 'em down, and they stay down. With his large gun ready by his side, raised and fully loaded, Frank strode through the darkened hallway, his footsteps echoing loudly off of the damp cement walls. He didn't even try to mask his approach- it wasn't as if he particularly cared whether his targets knew he was coming or not, he'd kill them all regardless. Even if he ran out of ammo he'd use the knives tucked into his belt and beneath his socks, and if those failed him, his bare hands too.

He was keyed up, his trigger finger itching to flex, to fire, but there were no assailants in sight. Where the hell were they? Had they been alerted to their impending doom and fled? Running wouldn't save them; he'd track them down anyway. Frank reached a stairwell and, after a quick glance around him, he descended it, having already cleared the floors above him.

The sight that greeted him as he peered into the expanse just around the corner had him sucking in a low, shocked breath. There was only one large room, the adjoining walls having been knocked down long ago. In the center of the room there was a large mattress, the only semi-clean thing he'd seen in this whole building, and, to his immense surprise, curled onto that mattress was a battered looking, but beautiful young woman. You were dressed in what could've been pajamas, a tank top and a tiny pair of shorts, which left a large portion of your form exposed to his gaze. He eagerly took in sight of you, your lovely form so stunningly out of place in this dank room. With a healthy measure of chagrin and a dash of anger he realized that your body was covered in bruises, all in different stages of healing. Some were days old and just starting to bloom, others were already a healing shade of purple, standing out starkly against the skin of your legs, arms and what he could see of your stomach. But the thing that made Frank stop in his tracks, the thing that had his lips parting and his breath huffing in surprise, was your gaze. No bruises or cuts marred the delicate, pretty features of your face; in fact it was as if it'd been left intentionally free of injuries. But your glinting, steely eyes were alert, darting around you, studying the men that sat in chairs and on couches around the mattress, guns propped casually by their sides as if they were guarding you, with a keen interest. There was no apprehension in those molten eyes of yours, not even a hint of that hallmark blankness that so often spread in the catatonic gazes of unlucky victims when they went through ordeals that their fractured minds refused to process any further.

You weren't afraid, though judging by the marks on your skin you probably should've been. Really though, Frank thought you just seemed angry.

A strange urge wracked his body, making him pause for an extra second before he shook himself hard and refocused. He was on a mission. The mobsters didn't know he was here yet, you hadn't even noticed him, so Frank took a deep breath, aiming carefully before letting loose a hailstorm of bullets.

He'd caught them by surprise, so finishing them off was easy enough. Their sharp yells of alarm as they were gunned down fell on deaf ears, nothing they uttered could save them now. He took pains not to let the gun fire get near you, you weren't his intended target tonight, it wouldn't do for you to be hit by a stray bullet. A red haze covered his vision as he killed them mercilessly, his heart pumping steadily as he worked. His ears rang for long moments once every one of the mobsters lay in puddles of their own rapidly-cooling blood, each in various stages of dying. He was only broken from his scarlet-tinged daze when you shifted on the mattress, rising slowly to your feet, abruptly reminding him of your presence, and your impending judgement. For some reason he fervently wished that you hadn't just seen him in bloodlust like that. Suddenly he was almost hesitant to look at you; he didn't want to see the disgust and fear he knew would be in your eyes.

And yet when he finally dragged his dark gaze to meet yours, the only thing he saw there was a stony determination, and dare he say a tinge of approval. Sure enough, after a moment your lips slowly curved into a small, sincere smile as you moved closer to him, your movements careful and intentional, as if you were approaching a skittish animal. As his chest heaved in heavy breaths and his heart sped up under your intense scrutiny, Frank supposed he did seem rather like a tiger trapped in a cage, keyed up and filled with adrenaline.

Your eyes were locked on his as you shuffled forward, your brow drawn and your bottom lip trembling. Confusion flashed through him as he took in the quaking of your mouth, and he noted with displeasure the wet sheen to your eyes. You were about to cry? Had he frightened you? His brows suddenly drew together and he backed away a step, angry at himself for scaring you when he hadn't meant to. But you followed him, reaching out a shaking hand to him as you rasped, "Thank you."

Your sincere voice was husky, from either disuse or screaming he wasn't sure, perhaps he didn't want to know, but your words were earnest, and he found he liked the sound of your voice. Your small hand closed around his forearm, your palm not even able to close fully around his appendage, so delicate against the stark weave of his tactical jacket.

That alien urge reared up in him again, biting and focused this time, stunning him with its ferocity. He was so floored that for a moment he didn't have a name for it, but when understanding came he nearly shuddered.

 _The need to protect…_

A sudden noise across the room had both of you whipping to alertness, Frank raising his gun and you raising your fists. So you were a fighter then; Frank felt a sudden pride surge through him that despite your battered state you still had a fire raging in you. Another wet, racking cough coming from a prone body a few paces away split the heavy, silent air, altering you to a survivor. Frank stalked over and you padded close behind. He didn't miss the way you stood slightly behind him, as if you liked how his large body shielded you. Another strange surge of pride flooded his veins, making him stand just a bit taller and walk with more purpose.

 _The need to protect; stronger than anything else…_

A balding Russian with a nasty looking stomach wound lay bleeding on the floor, his grubby hands clutching desperately at his rotund abdomen, as if he could keep his guts inside him by sheer will power. Frank flicked his gaze to your face and was momentarily floored to see fiery disdain he saw settled in your features. You knew this man, and you _hated_ him.

The fact that he was a mobster was enough for Frank to want him dead, but knowing that you regarded him with disgust, with loathing, made Frank want this man to suffer for whatever crimes he'd committed against you.

"Who is he?" Frank asked quietly, his question for your ears only.

"He's their leader. He's the one who gave me most of these bruises," You answered in a quiet voice that was thrumming with hatred, "He's pure filth."

"You want him dead?" Frank asked, peering down at the man, judging if a heart or headshot would be best.

"Yes," You hissed through gritted teeth, not even a moment's hesitation in your answer, your husky voice fierce.

Obediently Frank aimed, about to finish the man off as per your wishes when your small, slim fingers curled around the hand that held the pistol. The skin-on-skin contact surprised him, making delicious, warm tingles radiate through him from the simple touch. Distracted, he jerked his eyes to the side to survey you. Shit, you seemed so small, your head not even reaching his shoulder, and yet there was a courage set in the shape of your shoulders, a flinty tinge to your eyes that made a lump form in his throat and his breath quicken.

"This one's mine," You rasped, your eyes never leaving the Russian curled on the floor. Frank recognized the icy determination set in your gaze, he'd seen it reflected in his own, and he also recognized that you wanted this bad. If half the things he suspected happened to you in this dank room actually did occur, you needed this desperately. Though he itched to finish it himself, that urge, that need fired to life within him again.

 _ **The need to protect;**_ _ **stronger than the need to kill…**_

After a moment of stunned silence as that realization sunk in, he grunted and handed his weapon over to you, adjusting the scope and the mag, letting his fingers linger on your hand for just a moment longer than necessary as you expertly lined up the gun.

"Watch out, she kicks like a son of a bitch," He grated, suppressing the urge to wrap a hand around your shoulder to steady you. You simply nodded and took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment, a look of utter peace coloring your features. When you snapped open your eyes they were confident and steady, trained on your target. You placed a bare foot on the man's neck, bearing down until he was wheezing and sputtering.

"Do svidanya motherfucker," You grated in that gravely voice as you aimed the gun, ignoring the man's feeble protests. That sentiment almost made Frank's lips quirk, almost. If this had been another, less serious situation he might've even full on smiled. He was beginning to like you.

The creep under your foot didn't even get a chance to utter the beg that was beginning to form on his lips when you pulled the trigger without a warning. Just one shot, a clean hit between the eyes. Well at least you knew what you were doing.

The kickback Frank had warned about came not even a moment later, and it sent you flying back into his arms at an alarming speed. The gun was dropped, clattering forgotten to the floor at your feet. Frank caught you easily, one of his arms clasping around your waist, the other carefully placed at your shoulders, steadying you with the solid mass of his body. Your head fit so nicely into the curve if his chest, almost as if it was made to rest there.

"Better?" Frank asked at your ear, noting that way you shivered in his arms. You arched into his steadying embrace, almost as if you liked being there, and Frank suddenly wondered if his attraction was mutual.

"No," You answered, your fingers curling around the wrist he had positioned around your waist, "But at least he won't hurt anyone else." You gave a throaty laugh as you continued, "Shit, I basically just did the whole city a solid. I doubt I'll get free drinks for that though."

Amusement bubbled in Franks chest, somewhat loosening his apprehension at letting you go, his hands sliding reluctantly from your quaking form as you gently drew away from him.

"Yeah, no free drinks," Frank replied as you turned to face him, "But they will give you an all-expenses paid trip to the slammer for your efforts." Frank really wasn't that bitter about his prison stint…well maybe he was.

Your keen eyes regarded him, your full lips curving slightly as you replied, "Oh yeah, sounds great." You shared a smile together before you continued, "But prison couldn't hold you, could it."

Frank stiffened just a hint as your words sunk in, "You know who I am?"

"Of course," You replied, cocking your head to study him, your admittedly unkempt, but still comely hair tumbling over an exposed shoulder in a way that had Frank holding his breath, "Everyone in New York knows about the Punisher. And everyone has an opinion," Frank shuddered almost imperceptibly at hearing that damned nickname come from your lips; he wanted his real name tumbling from your pretty mouth, maybe in the form of a shaky moan or a needy invocation. Perhaps both.

"And what's your opinion," He asked, his voice low and thrumming with something hot and fierce. He took a step forward, his body moving closer to you of its own accord. You took an answering stride towards him, your gaze meeting his unflinchingly.

"I think that he just saved me from some really bad men who had intentions even worse than their poorly executed neck tattoos, so I'm the last one to cast judgement." You answered in that throaty voice, setting his blood afire. His fervent reply died with the laughter bubbling in his throat as your eyelids fluttered and your body wobbled. Frank suddenly realized that you were in bad shape; who knows when the last time you'd eaten or slept was. You needed rest and food.

"You alright?" He asked, reaching out to steady you again as you staggered.

"I'm fine," You muttered, seeming annoyed by your delicate state, those steely eyes of yours pinning him with their intensity even as you swayed dangerously in place. As you leaned ominously you fell gently into his open arms, both of your hands coming to rest on his broad chest. You bit your lip, drawing his eyes to your mouth, so damned close to his own. "Okay, I'm not fine," You muttered, your brow drawing.

Again Frank had to fight the urge to grin at your sentiment, though he was steadily losing that battle.

"You need to rest," He muttered, studying the room for something to cover you with. He couldn't transport you like this, half naked and nearly delirious, through the streets of Hell's Kitchen without people asking questions.

"Do you have somewhere safe that we can stay?" You asked, your voice becoming drowsy as fatigue and stress caught up with you.

 _We_. That simple word touched Frank in a way that he couldn't describe, his gaze softening as he looked down as you. "You trust me to keep you safe?" He asked, watching with amazement as you smiled up at him softly.

"Of course," Was your easy reply, the look in your eyes confirming this, as if he were silly for even questioning such an obvious fact. He tightened his hold on your, briefly squeezing you tight before he swept you into his arms, cradling you against him as easy as if you were made of paper.

"I'll take care of you," He husked, his voice laden with emotion. He watched spellbound as you smiled and sighed gently, flexing in his arms like a cat before closing your eyes and drifting off. As he gently removed his jacket and draped it over your sleeping form, he became aware of a tugging sensation in his chest, a gentle pull that hadn't been there before. His heart was pounding, somehow heavier now, as if it wanted to burst straight out of his chest. Shaking himself hard, but to no avail, he straightened and grabbed his gun, slinging it over his shoulder and starting back the way he came.

He'd vowed to take you somewhere safe, to take care of you, and that was a promise he intended to keep. As he strode away from that dark room it felt as if a weight was being lifted form his shoulders. No more unfulfilled oaths, no more broken promises. He cast a long gaze down at you, slumbering so peacefully against his chest, your lips nearly pressed right over his heart. Starting now, he'd keep you safe; you were his fresh start, his new chance at life.

 _The need to protect; stronger than the need to kill…._

* * *

 _This is the first chapter of what may become an ongoing Frank Castle/Reader story, please let me know what you guys think and if you want more! As always, please enjoy!_


	2. Chapter 2

Frank cast a long look at your sleeping form for the hundredth time in what felt like as many hours, raptly studying the way your hair spread out against his pillows like a halo, how your full lips were slightly parted as you huffed in gentle, relaxed breaths, the way the angles of your face softened in sleep. He could gaze at you unendingly, both perplexed and fascinated by the tiny woman who had awakened within him feelings that he'd thought were long gone. He was trying to be cautious here, to stay at arm's length, but as he paced back and forth in the bedroom of the small studio apartment that served as one of his safe houses here in Hell's Kitchen, he just couldn't keep his eyes from you, an undeniable tenderness aching in his chest as you breathed gently in slumber, relaxed and peaceful.

Once he'd gotten both of you safely to the apartment he'd promptly set you under the covers to rest, letting you sleep in his bed, trying hard to ignore what the sight of you there did to him, and hopped into the shower adjoining the bedroom to clean off any blood or grime that tonight's activities had accumulated. He'd lingered under the waters hot stream, watching the dirt and filth drain down the tub, indulging himself in a rare moment of pampering as the scalding water sluiced over his sore muscles. He justified his extravagance with the hope that you might be awake when he exited so that he could talk with you. He found that despite his lingering caution he was intensely curious about you, questions forming quickly in his mind as thoughts of you pervaded his consciousness.

How long had you been in the basement with the Russians? What had they intended for you? How had you stayed sane in that dark, damp prison? How would that experience affect you now that you were safe?

While he wanted answers to those inquiries, he also found himself wanting to see how your eyes glittered in the sun, wondering how you took your coffee, did you have siblings? Strange ponderings, but they flitted through his mind nonetheless. To his equal parts dismay and satisfaction he'd found you sleeping peacefully when he'd exited the shower, those burning questions forced to the backburner for the moment. He'd dressed swiftly and begun pacing before the bed, turning over the events of the last few hours in his mind. Gradually he realized that you couldn't go back to wherever you called home until he was sure the Russians didn't have you on their radar anymore. Frank would find out their plans and stop them, no matter what it took him. You deserved a safe, happy life, and he intended to give that to you. In the meantime you'd have to lay low, stay out of the public eye; maybe you could stay here with him. He could keep you safe, that he was sure of, and he'd feel better if he could see you, could have tactile proof that you were okay.

It soon dawned on him that if you were going to be with him you'd need things; clothes, toiletries, womanly stuff. That is if you even agreed to stay here, but he latched onto the bright hope that you'd see things his way. Those questions drifted back to his mind and he absently wondered what your favorite color was before he shook himself hard and tried not to focus on the fact that he barely knew anything about you. You were the first woman to grace his bed in ages, real, warm and so beautiful, and he didn't even know your name. He quietly bit out a curse, the speed of his pacing increasing as he ran a hand through his hair.

After casting another long look your way, dutifully committing to memory the graceful curves of your face and the delicate shadows that played in the hollows of your collar bones, he grabbed his jacket and wallet, setting out to get essentials for you. How could you leave if everything that you needed was already here?

With that justification running through his mind, he eagerly prowled the streets of New York City. It felt good to be out in the crisp night air, though he felt an inexplicable tug as he strode away from you, as if with every step he took he was moving further from a part of himself. He hastened his steps, wanting to get back to the apartment as soon as possible. He quickly came upon several stores that had what he sought; first he bought food, careful to select enough variety that you'd be sure to find something you liked in the assortment. On impulse he bought a bottle of whiskey; although he didn't drink he figured you might need one after everything you'd been through. Next he'd stopped at a drug store and, after staring dumbfounded at the alarmingly immense number of women's products for several long moments, told the woman working there that he and his daughter were going on trip and she needed toiletries. He ignored the sharp pang in his chest at the mention of a daughter, fervently pushing away those blood tinged memories, bringing thoughts of you to his mind to calm himself. Surprisingly it worked, though not before the woman had seen the pained look on his face, smiled warmly in misunderstanding and helped him get what you needed.

Next he ducked into the nearest department store and selected some generic clothes that he thought would fit you. He had studied you more intently than he'd be willing to admit, so he felt safe with his estimations of your size. He purchased several pairs of pants, jeans, t shirts, a few sweaters, socks and a light jacket, all in basic, no nonsense colors. For shoes he went with a pair of sturdy boots, keeping in mind that if you had to run they wouldn't hinder you. He was about to head back to the apartment when he realized he was missing one key thing amid his numerous purchases.

Undergarments.

You undoubtedly needed those, but the thought of picking out delicate panties and bras that would later grace your curvy form had his mouth suddenly dry and his palms sweating. He momentarily considered entering one of those brightly lit lingerie stores that displayed all manner of wicked lacey confections, tempting him maddeningly when he imagined them on your body, but in the end he chickened out and bought basic black panties and sports bras; the kind that came in a pack of 3 or 5, boring and safe from his carnally inclined thoughts.

Frank had always been turned on by the sight of a woman stripping down to just her bra and panties before his riveted gaze, he'd thoroughly enjoyed quite a few stripteases in his day, but after everything with his family he'd resigned himself to never again being treated to the beauty of a womans body bared just for him. He'd steadfastly forgone even the simplest intimacies, the brush of warm skin against his, glittering eyes meeting his own gaze, all human contact, trying to punish himself for not being able to protect his family from those evil men. And yet, as he strode hastily back to the apartment, purchases in hand, he couldn't stem the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the slight possibility of reveling in those little affections with you.

He reached the safe house quickly, his eager anticipation making his movements efficient and hasty, his feet flying up the stairs, his heart pounding in anticipation. He reminded himself to tread carefully with you; you'd just been through a traumatic event, he could only speculate about your resulting mental state. Confident that you'd be awake by now, but still cautious in case you were asleep, he gently opened the door and locked it behind him, moving swiftly to the bedroom.

The sight that greeted him as he peered into the space, scanning for your presence, had his jaw slackening and his body heating, the purchases still laden in his arms forgotten. You sat in the tub he'd showered in hours ago, naked as the day you were born, humming gently as you washed between your toes. The high, steaming water was filled with bubbles, obscuring your more delicious curves from view, teasing him with small glimpses of a slim thigh here and a delicate ankle there. Your wet hair clung to the damp skin of your shoulders, your glistening skin catching the dim light of the street lamps outside, and the soft glow of the light in the bedroom.

Shit, if he'd thought buying your underwear was trying, he was in for one hell of a time watching you luxuriate in the most erotic bubble bath he'd ever witnessed. _Tread carefully_ , he reminded himself, and yet he found himself quite unable to tear his eyes from your glistening form.

* * *

You were just starting to wash between your toes when you noticed Frank Castle standing in the middle of the bedroom, openmouthed and frozen as he took in the view of you in his bathtub. In hindsight you probably should've closed the door, at least tried to keep up the pretense of modesty, but the idea of a warm bubble bath was too tempting to resist and you'd leapt at it without any further thought. After you'd woken from your nap you'd found the apartment regrettably devoid of a certain brooding male, the heavy silence in the room making you increasingly uncomfortable, unpleasant memories beginning to prick at the corners of our mind. To occupy yourself, and find out more about the tall, dark and handsome man whose bed you'd passed out in, you'd done what any other self-respecting young woman would've. You'd snooped shamelessly, rummaging through the various shelves cabinets and dressers scattered through the tiny studio apartment, your mission either food or painkillers, but you'd found little that wasn't half-moldy and not even a single Advil despite your aggressive efforts. What you did find, however, was a small bottle of vanilla scented bubble bath, stashed away amidst a box of undoubtedly stolen hotel soaps that had been thrown haphazardly under the sink.

Making delighted noises that would've embarrassed you immensely had you not been alone, you'd promptly stripped and drawn a bath, adding the whole bottle of bubbles to the toasty water. You'd washed yourself as best you could despite the lack of proper toiletries, luxuriating in finally scrubbing the accumulated filth from your hair, not even able to formulate a single complaint as you'd vigorously scrubbed. Compared to where you were yesterday, this was practically heaven, and your fellow inhabitant of this paradise wasn't so bad either.

You'd known about Frank Castle since his trial, conviction and escape had gone public, but you really hadn't given him much thought until recently. Very recently. And you found you liked what you saw. He was a large man, imposing and fearsome when he doled out his grisly justice, but you found that you weren't afraid of him. When he'd appeared in the doorway of that god forsaken room he'd seemed like some kind of dark angel to you, saving you from evil men and their even more evil intentions, but as he'd spoken with you, and swept his gaze over your bedraggled, dirty form with apparent interest, you'd seen that he was very human. You had been, and still were, starved for safety, yearning for human contact that didn't involve Russian curses or clenched fists. In such sharp contrast to your captors, he actually made you feel protected, his strength and fierceness assuring you that he could keep you from harm. He regarded you with only your well being in mind, his touch so gentle and his words filled with shining promises that you wholeheartedly believed.

And the expression on his face when he'd asked if you really did trust him? Mm, enough to make you melt like ice cream in the sun.

His face now, as he took in the sight of you sitting naked in his tub, was somewhere between that gentle, endearing incredulity and a fiery I'll-fuck-you-up-against-a-wall; the unexpected combination doing strange, butterfly-like things to your stomach. You were just as surprised at his arrival as he seemed to be, though he stared at you for several long moments before he spoke.

"Oh shit- I'm sorry," You swore you could almost see the barest hint of a _blush_ on Frank Castle's carved cheekbones before he whirled around so that his broad back was to you, "I wasn't trying to find you- Well I was, but I didn't know you'd be-" He peeked over his shoulder to sweep his molten gaze down your form again, making delight curl deep in your belly before he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like _Sweet Christ_..

You giggled just a bit, the sound deep and throaty due to your voice still being scratchy, "Frank, really it's okay, I should've closed the door." Really though, as you studied his imposing body from the top of his crew cut and hulking shoulders, down his strong legs to the bottom of his rugged combat boots, you found that you weren't all that sorry that you hadn't. "What's in the bags?" You questioned, crossing your arms over the edge of the tub and leaning forward to peek at them.

"Stuff for you," He answered over his shoulder as he used his foot to scooch one of the numerous parcels closer to you, his strained efforts not quite working while he faced away from you. He finally gave up and turned around to bring some of the bags into the bathroom, his gaze trained anywhere but your body. It wasn't as if he could see anything, all of your good bits were covered by piles of bubbles, but you appreciated the gesture anyway. "I did the best I could, but I'm not sure if I got everything you need."

"Everything I need for what?" You questioned absently as you pawed through the bag closest to you, finding a vast array of toiletries.

"To stay here with me," He said quietly, his tone unguarded, the gentle hopefulness thrumming in his voice making you pause your study of the items and gaze up at him, finding his eyes locked on your upturned face.

"You want me to be here with you?" The idea had flitted through your mind, along with a wild, burning hope, but you had assumed he'd want you out of his hair as soon as possible. You had figured you'd only be a burden to him, an extra mouth to feed, but here he was practically begging you to stay, his dark eyes soft as they gazed into yours. What a pleasant surprise.

He nodded, moving down to a crouch so that his face was level with yours. Up close, you saw small details about him that you hadn't noticed before; the way his cupids bow curved gently down, those lofty cheekbones that looked as if they had been carved from marble, the molten brown of his eyes, shining and hopeful as he gazed at you. You found yourself lost in the light in his face, as if he could cleanse away the darkness of your past with one smile from those delicious looking lips.

"If you'll have me, I'd love to stay," You said quietly, leaning in closer to him, your body shifting of its own accord. He moved too, his palm coming to rest beside yours on the ledge of the tub. When your pinky brushed his index finger in just the lightest of touches he seemed to start, realizing suddenly how close you were. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the room as he shifted back on his heels, moving away from you.

"It's safer this way; the Russians could still be looking for you so it's best that you don't go home until we know for sure that you aren't on their shit list anymore." He explained needlessly, his tone more formal that before. He didn't need to elaborate, you were already on board with this plan.

"Sounds logically to me," you said, trying to catch his eye again. When he nodded briskly and moved to rise you unthinkingly darted out a hand to catch him, your seeking fingers finding the warm expanse of his palm, "No, stay," You breathed, fearing that dark, twisted memories would find you in his absence, "Please?" You peeked up at him under your lashes, noting the way his broad chest heaved in steady breaths as he regarded you. If he was worried about your modesty he was fretting needlessly, there were plenty of bubbles between the two of you, and you had never had a strong sense of prudish virtue. Besides you liked the way he looked at you, so different from your captors. It made you feel better, knowing that there were men like Frank in the world.

After a pregnant pause he sighed and sat beside the tub, his expression looking for all the world like he'd just fought a battle with reason – and lost. When you smiled and slid your fingers from his palm he frowned slightly at the loss of contact. You put your appendage back on the ledge of the tub, neutral territory, to let him know your hand was available for holding in case the mood struck him. The arm that lay out of the water exposed the skin of your forearm to his gaze and you watched as his attention was drawn there, his keen gaze fixing on the dark, finger shaped bruises that wrapped around your slim wrist. Rage colored his expression briefly before he rasped in a few ragged breaths and reached out shaking fingers to trace the darkly colored marks, as if he could heal them with that simple touch.

"Those men got what they deserved," You said quietly, passion coloring your words, "Thanks to you."

"And you," He replied, his eyes flicking back up to yours, "You got justice for their crimes too."

"Again, thanks to you. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for what you've done for me," Your voice shook, heavily laden with emotion. You were surprised by the depth of feeling you saw reflected in his dark eyes, momentarily floored by the flecks of green flaring through the dark brown of his irises. Beautiful.

He broke his gaze away first, his fingers slipping from your skin as he said, "Just doing my duty ma'am."

Your lips quirked before you supplied him with your name, realizing you hadn't been formally introduced. When he repeated your name, the syllables rolling nicely off his tongue, a small smile curved his lips, making you grin in response. He had such a nice smile, it was infectious. You began to talk, just simple, easy questions, bantering back and forth as you grew more comfortable in each other's presence.

"You seem…alright," He said at one point, his gaze wary as he referred to your surprisingly stable mental state. You laughed lightly at that; if only kidnapping had been the worst thing to happen to you.

"I guess I'm just used to life not being pretty," You replied, the smile slipping from your lips, as you stared down at the sloshing water, "I've experienced things much darker than Russian mobsters."

"You've been kidnapped before?" He questioned, his eyes intent on your face.

"The risk has been present," You supplied after a pause, knowing your response was cryptic, "Why are you helping me?" You asked, making your voice gentle as his brow furrowed in response to your question, "It's not that I don't want your help, or appreciate it, I do! I'm just," you fidgeted slightly, frowning as you continued, "I'm not used to having someone who actually cares."

"Because it's what I do…" He said after a moment, his brow still furrowed, this time in introspection.

"You rescue kidnapped, injured women and let them take long baths in your tub?" You said, hoping your question might wring a smile from those down turned lips of his. Sure enough it did, his mouth quirking slightly at the corners. You felt an absurd rush of pride at making him smile.

"I give people what they deserve, and you deserve to be protected, to feel safe." He replied, that smile still coloring his voice, making his words sound lighter, but you felt their impact down to your very bones. As you gazed into his eyes, a fiery longing flared to life in your chest. For the first time in recent memory you felt hope for the future, hope for the goodness in the world, all from the man sitting next to you who believed that you deserved _more._ You hoped, no you prayed, that he could be patient with you, that he could sit with the questions you knew he had for just a little while longer. You may not be able to tell him everything about you just yet, but damn, as you looked into his smiling eyes, did you want to.

You craved closeness, human contact, someone to lean on. Could you find that in Frank Castle? When he skated his fingers over the ridges of your knuckles, just the barest brush of skin on skin, nothing more implied in the gentle touch, that simple action both comforting and slightly arousing, you thought, y _es, maybe, just maybe…._


	3. Chapter 3

Frank rasped his fingers over the ridges of your knuckles, barely keeping his digits from shaking as he skimmed a feather light touch along your skin. He could take down a dozen mobsters by himself, his hands steady as a rock, but when it came to a simple caress, gentle and sweet, he shook like a damn leaf in the wind. He would've laughed at himself if he wasn't watching your face so raptly, loving the crimson blush that stained your cheekbones and how your full lips parted, your gaze heating as it met his.

There was a distinct look in your eyes, an imploring gleam that shone there as you gazed up at him so trustingly. Damn, he could get lost in those deep eyes of yours. He found himself leaning forward, wanting to be closer to you, to feel the heat of your body next to his. Human contact, connection; something he'd denied himself for so long that he found he was absolutely _starving_ for it now.

He felt a blistering warmth bloom in his chest, deep inside him, in the hollow near his heart, when you leaned forward too, your lips parting as you moved closer to him. He suddenly remembered his fingers that were still skimming your hand, but you seemed to like his touch, to welcome it even, so he didn't remove them. Instead, carefully, gauging your reaction, he ghosted his fingertips up the graceful line of your arm, pausing to swirl his fingers around the bruises that he encountered. You shivered lightly under his touch, canting your head to the side as he reached the curve of your shoulder, baring the slender column of your neck to him. Your eyes slid closed when he ran his fingers along your delicate collar bone, marveling at the soft feel of your skin, still slightly damp from your bath, and the ease with which you trusted him.

The supple beauty of your form wasn't diminished by the fading bruises that marred your flesh; if anything they just made Frank want to see your skin without those angry purple marks. Momentarily he was awed that anyone could harm you, especially when a sound that was suspiciously similar to a purr erupted from your throat in response to his ministrations. Those bruises fueled his already rampant desire to keep you safe, to guard you, and your little noises sent a warm thrill through him. He was amazed, and intensely grateful, that you were so damned trusting that he wouldn't hurt you like those other men had.

He _couldn't_ hurt you; he wouldn't let himself, no matter what. He knew he was a monster, and that his touch was poison, he _knew_ that, just like he knew his children's birthdays and the color of the sky, but the achingly sweet way you leaned into him made him question even that previously iron clad fact.

He felt your pulse hammering under his touch, your skin glistening as you heaved in shallow breaths through parted lips. When he skimmed his fingers down the pane of your cheek, your eyes flew open and you gasped, your gaze heating. He was about to give in to the all too enticing temptation to trace the curve if your bottom lip with his thumb when a loud, abrupt noise cut the heavily laden air between you. Your stomach growled, rumbling deafeningly in the breathy silence.

You gasped anew and clutched your middle, a blush staining your cheeks apple red. Frank couldn't resist the urge to chuckle at that, and he was glad when your own lilting laughter joined his.

"Hungry?" Frank asked softly, his expression still pliant as he reluctantly moving his hand from your face, the spell of the moment broken, no more than a whisper in the heated air.

"Starving," You replied softly, languidly stretching your arms above your head, obviously enjoying the smooth roil of your muscles. Frank just barely stopped his gaze from sweeping down your body once more, drawing on his immense reserves of self-control for support. Frank's mouth upturned just the slightest at the endearingly ravenous expression on your bright face before he nodded curtly and turned his gaze from your soapy form.

"You do what you need to here, I'll fix you something," He said, his mind already focused on what he'd make you. He used to cook for his family, and he'd been told he was pretty damn good at it, but for some unnamable reason your opinion in this matter was very important to him.

"Thank you," Came your soft reply from behind him, your gentle voice thrumming with gratitude. His answer was cut off by another roaring rumble from your stomach, followed hastily by more soft chuckles from the both of you.

"I'll be fast, ma'am," Frank promised, leaving you to finish your bath in peace, your delighted laughter ringing in his ears. It was nice to have that sound resounding in his head tonight instead of the harsh clap of gunfire and the cries of the dying that usually echoed in his mind.

Feeling lighter, freer than he had in ages, he gladly set to making you a simple dinner of chicken and potatoes, the recipes coming back to him in the space of a heartbeat as he worked. He'd forgotten just how much he'd enjoyed the simple act of making food, and sharing it. It was such a _human_ experience, sharing a meal. And an intimate one too, which of course meant that it had been a long time since Frank had done this. But he found that his caution was fading by the minute, his lips curling every time he recalled the mix of horror and hunger on your face as your stomach growled, almost as if you were angry at your own traitorous body for interrupting the moment. He was so lost in his cooking that he didn't notice when you padded from out from the bedroom, your sock feet making soft noises on the hard wood floor.

"It smells amazing in here!" You exclaimed in your husky voice; he was beginning to like that sound filling his rooms, and his head. He turned to reply, to explain that this was a recipe his family used to love, when he caught sight of you. You were walking towards him, combing your fingers through your damp hair, clad in a simple pair of black leggings and grey socks, modest and plain, but it was your upper half that caught his attention. It seemed he'd… _underestimated_ when buying your shirts. The smooth skin of your upper breasts bounced deliciously with each light step you took, the tight tank top they were encased in pushing them up and out for Frank's viewing pleasure. He whirled around and coughed hard into his fist, praying to any god that could possibly be listening that you hadn't seen the blush on his cheeks.

"I used to make this recipe for my family, I thought you might like it," He huffed out, his words coming faster than they would have before.

"I'm sure I'll love it, thank you for cooking for me," You replied, a smile coloring your words. He heard you settle onto one of the bar stools behind the small counter across from him, your presence searing brightly into his consciousness, burning like a supernova.

"I'm sorry about the, ah, wrong sizes I got you," Frank murmured, not daring to turn around and survey your expression as he heaped two plates with steaming food.

"Don't worry about it, I know appearances can be deceiving," There was a wicked, playful edge to your voice that he found he liked hearing there. Spurned by that flirtatious tone, he turned and set the plates before the both of you, him standing and you sitting. He couldn't relax, not yet. He wanted to be ready in case any mobsters came knocking. Plus, the sight of your breasts spilling from the confines of your shirt didn't do much to uncoil the tension winding tightly in his shoulders either _. Tread carefully_ , he reminded himself for the millionth time that night.

A smirk curved your lips as you noticed the unopened bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. "Good call," You said, smiling as you untwisted the cap and took a healthy gulp. Shivering slightly you held the bottle to him in offering. Frank shook his head, settling for just water instead. You accepted his refusal without asking for an explanation, and Frank was grateful; he was reluctant to explain the true depth of his paranoia concerning whether the Russian's were still after you, and therefore his fierce desire to stay alert and vigilant.

He watched amused as you dug into your food heartily, small, delighted moans erupting from your lips as you ate. You'd stop every once in a while for a sip of whiskey or to exclaim enthusiastic praise of Frank's culinary skills. Frank liked a woman with appetites, with passions, and you definitely had both. When you were done you pushed your plate away and settled back in your chair, nursing the bottle of whiskey with a contented look on your face.

"Frank," You said in a drowsy voice, your lips curled into a smile, "That was _amazing_."

He couldn't stop his answering grin as he cleared his own plate, "Of course, it's the least I can do."

"Pshh," You huffed, blowing a damp strand of hair off your forehead as you continued, "At the rate you're doing nice things for me, I'll be forever in your debt. You're spoiling me rotten."

"Well you deserve it," He replied quietly, studiously staring at the fake marble countertops his hands rested on. He felt your eyes studying him and he found his gaze moving to meet yours, quickly lost in the shining depths of your eyes.

"Why did the Russians take you?" The question spilled from his lips before he could stop himself, his curiosity about you roaring to life. You took a deep breath and another swig of whiskey before you cleared your throat and answered.

"I found out that their leader, the guy I killed, was running a child prostitution ring as a side business. As if human trafficking wasn't enough," You scoffed, your expression dark, "I stole some incriminating evidence from his laptop with my specific skill set and was going to turn it in to the police. They found me before I could get to the police or somewhere safe. I was in that basement for a few days, maybe five maximum. I lost count because of all the times I blacked out. I got the sense that they were planning something big. They were probably going to make an example out of me." You said, pausing to gulp heavily and sweep the drying hair off your neck. Frank just barely suppressed the urge to twine his fingers with yours, to let you know he understood and that he was here for you.

"How did you get the evidence-" Frank began to ask, but he stopped as understanding struck him, "You're a hacker?" He asked, an incredulous grin beginning to form on his lips. Sudden admiration for you, for your bravery and courage, struck him deep in his chest.

"Most of us prefer the term systems engineer's, but yeah," You said with a laugh, "I'm a hacker. I do some freelance stuff for cash, fixing a system here, upgrading a firewall there. It pays the bills, but you wouldn't believe the dirt I uncover on people. Most can't cover their tracks as well as they think they can."

"Oh I believe that," Frank rasped, thinking of all the mobsters he'd found cause they got messy, or lazy. Or both.

"I mean, the Pornhub searches alone…" You said, blowing out a huff of breath as you continued, "I've seen some weird shit, but nothing criminal. Though maybe some of it should be," Frank laughed in agreement as you spoke, "But what those mobsters were doing…" You trailed off, your eyes darkening with malice as they met his, "Frank, it was evil. I tried to stop them, and failed miserably."

"Do you still have the evidence you originally found?" Frank asked, his brows drawn in thought.

"They think they destroyed it all but I back up all of my backups, so I'm sure it's somewhere," You replied, your eyes sparkling in interest, "What are you thinking?"

"Having dirt on the mob, while being both dangerous and slightly stupid, can be useful,  
Frank said, leaning over the counter as he spoke, "We can use it if we're in a pinch."

You nodded in accord, yawning hugely before you replied, "And I'm sure there's more where that came from, each of the guys involved are guilty of at least a few minor criminal charges. All it would take would be for one of them to go down and they could have a full blown investigation on their hands. I'm sure that's the last thing the mob wants."

Frank made a noise of agreement, "If it comes to that I know just the lawyer that can help," He said, thinking of Red. While he regretted that he'd blown his case, and probably thrown a wrench his Red's legal career, he'd seen it as necessary at the time. Red would understand. He'd have to.

"Good," You murmured, your voice suddenly drowsy, drawing Frank's attention as you yawned hugely, leaning in your chair.

"Alright, it's bedtime for you," Frank said, chuckling quietly at the defiant expression set in your features. You'd gotten a couple hours sleep, nowhere near the amount of rest you needed to recover. Frank was mildly surprised you had stayed awake this long, but he was quickly learning not to underestimate how strong you were.

"Not yet," You pleaded after yet another jaw cracking yawn, "I wanna talk more, and I don't know if you'll be here when I wake up." Your words sent a strange emotion skittering to Frank's twisting heart, his gaze softening immeasurably.

"I will be," He said as he moved to where you were sitting and scooped you up easily, "I promise." He knew he that he really didn't have to carry you, you probably could've walked, but the feel of you in his arms was so pleasant, so _right_ , that he couldn't forgo it. You sighed and curled against him, your body relaxing in his arms.

"You'd better be Mr. Castle," You murmured as he set you in his bed, tucking you in once more, "Or else I'm coming to find you." That thought made a smile curve his lips, your wrath no doubt a formidable thing, but a force he'd rather not incur.

"I don't doubt it," He said, a grin coloring his voice, "I'll be in the next room if you need anything."

You made a soft noise of acknowledgement, your eyes already closed and your breaths slowing. Damn, he could get used to the sight of you there, warming his cold bed. The more he spoke with you the more he was finding your presence agreeable, intensely so. You were funny and whip smart, not to mention beautiful. He swept the damp hair from your face, tracing the graceful curve of your neck with a gentle palm. You sighed and leaned into him, responding to his touch even in sleep. So innocent and endearing. Shit, he was trying to be careful here but he was finding it harder and harder to stay objective, to just protect. For a moment he let himself imagine more with you; picturing you settled on his lap, your lips pressed against his as he twined his fingers in your hair, imagining the silky slide of your skin against his, having your voice in his ear be the first thing he hears when he wakes up. A small smile curved his lips, his chest throbbing with a fierce aching want. He wanted that more than he'd ever wanted anything; the feeling more intense that any emotion he'd felt even before he became the Punisher. From the solid expanse of numb he'd been living in he suddenly _felt_. He craved and he ached; he bled and he burned. His heart felt torn apart by the weight of emotion that it carried. It felt like it didn't….it didn't _belong_ to him anymore.

Like it belonged to _you_. And he realized he'd gladly give it; with the last breath in his body and drop of blood from his veins, he'd give it to you.

All of it. Everything, for you.


	4. Chapter 4

You tried your hardest to get free, to wake up, you really did. Your mind railed and screamed, it battled and bucked, but in the end it was fruitless. You knew you were dreaming, you knew it was just another nightmare, but you were locked in it nonetheless, helpless to do anything but watch and relive. Your fitful mind twisted and turned from the weight of the sea of memories it suppressed, images flitting unfettered through your dreams.

 _A warm breeze kissed your upturned face, carrying the heat of the beating summer sun from your bronzing skin. A smile curved your lips of its own volition, contentedness blooming in your chest. Your car sped down the highway stretching before you, lofty, sun soaked trees hugging the road you were flying down, their gnarled branches seeming to reach towards you in gleeful celebration of the blooming summer. You were surrounded by love, laughter, family; things so foreign to you now that it took you a moment to recognize them._

 _No, not this memory, not this one. You'd relive your time with the Russians a hundred fold before you'd relived this._

 _Your mother looked back at you from the passenger's seat, her smile as sweet as honey and her expression as warm as her embrace. Her hand was intertwined with your fathers, who sat in the driver's seat, a relaxed expression on his strong brow. Your sister sat beside you, her ear buds in, blasting some cheesy pop song, her charmingly tone-deaf humming's somehow soothing you. Her feet were encroaching on your side of the backseat, but you let her stretch out, accommodating her pink tipped toes._

 _Your family was headed into New York City for vacation, the weight of daily stresses and responsibilities lifted off of your heavily burdened shoulders, giving the trip a light, relaxed feel. A Journey song was currently blasting through the speakers and your parents were singing along like they were seventeen again, getting only half of the blaring, heartily sung words right._

 _Everything was so peaceful, so right, that for just an instant you wanted this moment to last forever._

 _And then, so abruptly you didn't have time to react, your calm was shattered. An eighteen wheeler slammed through the barrier keeping oncoming traffic on the other side of the road, crumpling the metal between you as though it were paper, the hulking monster setting a clear course for your car. Your pulse pounded frantically in your veins and your fists clenched, as though that would do any good. You gasped in shock, one clear burst of pure fear lancing through your mind before the tremendous impact rocked you down to your very core. Everything was fragmented, coming in quick bursts of sensation. There was screaming, yours, your mothers? You barely registered the wrenching snap of your bones and tearing of your flesh before you lost consciousness._

 _Then there was blackness. Nothing. You were drifting, floating; were you dead? When you remembered the blood dripping onto the asphalt, your family's blood, you realized death wouldn't be so bad right now. Your world was snapped back into sharp focus by the harsh, permeating sensation of pain. You reluctantly opened your eyes to find the stark expanse of a hospital wall staring back at you, blank and impersonal. You immediately began searching frantically for your family, yelling for them, but no answers came. When a nurse rushed to your side to calm you, a sad, sympathetic expression on her face, you knew they were gone._

 _Suddenly the dream changed, morphing, twisting darkly._

 _You saw your family's bodies lying, twisted and bloodied, on the ground in front of you, the hunk of metal that used to be your car mangled just a few steps away. You knelt before them, hot tears tracking down your cheeks as you wept. Why had you survived? Why were you left alive? They should be here, happy and alive, not dead and buried far beneath the earth._

 _Suddenly your sisters' hand shot out and gripped your wrist, hard. The blood drying on her fingers smeared onto your skin, staining your flesh a deep, angry red. Her eyes snapped open, glazed by death, staring up at the sky above. Her cracked lips parted as she rasped, "Why do you get to live while we die?" Her rattling voice made your heart race with fear, her question burning into your mind, "Why, sister?" She slowly turned her chilling gaze towards you, her grip tightening painfully. Abruptly she wrenched herself upright and leapt at you, screaming, "Why?"_

You jolted awake sharply, your pulse hammering in your ears and your skin slicked with sweat. Your mind was sluggish as it struggled to catch up to the present, slowly dredging you out of the nightmare you'd just been so immersed in. You gasped in ragged breaths as you drew a shaky hand to your neck, sweeping the sweat soaked hair from your skin, pulling the strands over your shoulder, relieved to feel fresh air sliding across your over heated flesh. Seeing your family in your dreams was nothing new, but that, that was different. Darker. You were shaken to your very core, the large bed you were in suddenly feeling unbearably lonely. You needed human contact, reassurance that you weren't losing your mind.

You huffed out a breath, swiping your hand across your cooling forehead, brushing the clammy skin there as you sat up. You placed your feet on the floor beside the bed, rising slowly on unsteady legs. You weren't quite sure where you were going but you couldn't stand to sit in the bed still teeming with vivid fragments of your nightmare. You felt your hands shaking from the intense emotions coursing through your body, your temples throbbing and your throat uncomfortably tight.

Spurned by some unidentifiable desire, hoping to rid yourself of the demons nipping hungrily at your heels, you walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, running a hand over the cool marble countertop as you passed by. You shuffled into the living room, a small smile curving your lips at the sight of Frank curled up on the couch by the far wall greeting your tired eyes. His torso was bare, revealing the thickly corded muscles of his chest and arms to your curious gaze. His position looked rather uncomfortable, his oversized form folded precariously onto the small sofa, but the way his features were softened in sleep had you sighing nonetheless. The large windows that overlooked the city filtered in a gentle, moonlit glow, the hard angles of Frank's body smoothed and gentled in the soft light. You leaned against the doorway as you studied him, the light stubble that graced his lean cheeks, the cut angles of his jaw, his strong, hulking body.

You'd never been mote intrigued by anyone in your entire life as you were by Frank Castle. He was an enigma, an incalculable quantity. Yes, he was a killer, but so were you. That piece of shit mobster wasn't the first person you'd killed, and you had a feeling it wouldn't be your last. Frank killed for a reason, one you understood whole heartedly, for even though you'd ended a life you'd always done so for good reason. And Frank understood that, you knew he did.

But there was so much more to this huge, brooding male than what first meets the eye, and you were slowly learning. Frank was a lone wolf, no doubt about it. He moved in patterns that were constantly changing, and yet he made you feel _safe_ , like he could be your anchor in a storm, bearing the battering of the sea at his back to keep you safe from the pounding gale. And you suspected he'd do it gladly, without a single complaint. You could admit that you needed a steadiness like that right now. You _needed_ Frank. And you thought that he just might need you too.

As if sensing your eyes on him, Frank suddenly awoke, his keen eyes scanning the darkened apartment for any potential threats. When his sharp gaze fell on you he sat up, scrubbing a large palm down the back of his neck as concern colored his features.

"You alright?" He asked, that gravely voice sending shivers racing down your spine.

"Yeah," You huffed, crossing your arms around your middle and walking further into the room, "I just had a nightmare," You muttered, plopping down next to him, keeping your eyes steadily on your toes.

"I get those too," He said, his gentle voice coaxing you to look up, to meet his molten gaze that was fixed on your face, "The kind of dreams that stick with you, that haunt you even when you're awake."

Somehow, knowing that he understood made you melt for him, a sudden, fierce desire to connect with him kindling in your chest, "Yeah," You whispered, gulping heavily as dark images floated through your mind, desperately wanting to tell him, to confide in him, but icy dread stopped you. You'd never told anyone about your family, you'd kept it locked tight to your chest, but you couldn't contain it anymore. It hurt too much. Frank reached for you then, just the barest brush of his fingertips over your knuckles, traveling the crests and hills of your skin. You sighed and closed your eyes as a thick wave of tingles whispered across your flesh. Calmed, you angled your body closer to him, gazing up into his deep eyes as you continued, "It was about my family. I lost them in a car crash. I was the only survivor." You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you spoke, your voice low and thrumming with emotion, "I think about that day all the time. Why did I survive? Why was I the one that made it out alive?"

You bit your lip hard, trying desperately not to cry, not to break down in front of him, but his gaze was so damned earnest as he listened, the breadth of understanding you saw there spurring you to continue, "I saw them die, Frank. I saw their bodies crushed like they were soda cans, I saw their blood dripping onto the pavement…" Your voice caught in your throat as hot tears spilled unbidden down your cheeks, one after the other, flowing as though you'd never cried a single tear in your whole life. Suddenly, your body moving of its own accord, you leaned closer to him, falling desperately into Frank, hoping wildly that he'd accept you. You gasped when, unexpectedly, blessedly, strong arms enfolded you into his firm, broad chest, his warm embrace cracking the last of your steely resolve. You hiccupped rather unbecomingly into the crook of his neck, burying your face into his chest as you cried, your body shaking from the force of your sobs.

"I got you, it's all right," He murmured as he rocked you lightly, his touch sure and gentle, his body the anchor you so badly needed. You got the sense that he needed the embrace just as much as you did, his touch almost urgent. He held you as though he'd been expecting this and wasn't at all shocked that you were falling apart in his arms. He held you like he'd been ready, waiting, to catch you. And catch you he did.

"You're gonna be alright," He said, his voice nearly a croon, his long fingers entwining in your tangled hair, cupping the back of your head, holding you firmly against him, "You're gonna be okay, I got you."

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, but gradually you became intensely aware of his smooth, muscled skin that roiled beneath your fingers, of his warm, solid, massive chest that you were currently pressed against. You suddenly realized that somehow you'd ended up in his lap and were effectively straddling him. One of his big palms rested against the small of your back; you felt it's warmth down to your very bones. Drawing in a shaky breath, you gently pulled away from him, self -consciously tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You gulped heavily as you drew your eyes slowly up his chest, pausing to study the curve of his lips, so deliciously close to yours. For a moment you imagined how they'd feel pressed against yours. Would his kiss be gentle and sweet, or fierce and dominating? You weren't sure which you'd prefer. Shit, right now, seated so intimately on him, with his strong hands on your body, his gentle understanding making you melt in his arms, you'd take both.

You slowly tore your eyes from his mouth, meeting his gaze. You saw a wealth of emotion shimmering in his dark, beautiful eyes. His breaths seemed to be coming fast, his chest was heaving as he regarded you, his lips parting. You knew there was an awful strength in this hulking body of his, and yet he was so gentle with you, as though you were made of glass. Your heart twisted in your chest as you gazed at each other, the guard you had so carefully tried to put up around your emotions falling by the wayside.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" You asked, your voice a mere whisper against the heavy, crackling air between you.

"Of course," He replied immediately, his palm stroking down the back of your head to cup your neck, his gentle fingers wrapping around your nape. The gesture made you feel encased, protected – little securities that you had been so long without.

You sighed and leaned into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder, curling into him as he picked you up easily and carried you to his bed. He settled you down next to him carefully, releasing his hold on you, leaving you free to move away if you wished to. But you didn't, you still clung to him, almost desperately, hoping that he'd keep your dark, twisted nightmares away for good. He chuckled gently at your iron grip on him, making you smile lightly into his skin before the solid bars of his arms came to wrap around you again, holding you tight against him.

As his fingers ran gently through your hair, playing in the long strands, and sleep began to take you once more, you knew that this was _right._ That this was _perfect._ And you knew that, if you weren't careful, you could begin to get very used to this beautiful, fierce, gentle male holding you tight, whispering promises of safety, of protection in your scared mind.

And you knew you would do anything to keep him here, by your side. No matter what.

* * *

Yay for late night cuddles and comfort! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know your thoughts! Also I've been VERY into mood boards lately, so I created a few for this fic. If you'd like to check them out, they're linked below. Please enjoy!

Mood board for chapter 1: post/143096912049/the-first-time-frank-saw-you-his-thoughts-were

Mood board for chapter 4: post/143289718159/will-you-stay-with-me-tonight-you-asked-your


	5. Chapter 5

Frank slowly awoke to the blissful sensation of your small, lithe form pressed against him, your slim back flush against his chest and your head tucked comfortably under his chin, and for just a moment he thought it was a dream. His morning wood, however, was throbbing in a very real way that immediately dispelled any suspicions that this was just a fantasy. That wasn't to say that he hadn't fantasized about you in various other ways, letting himself imagine the little moans that would thrum through you if he kissed the warm skin of your neck, wanting your firm breasts spilling into his seeking palms as he kneaded the pliant globes, listening for the catch of your breath when he swiped his thumbs over your aching nipples. But as much as he loved the fiery heat that would rush through him at those wicked thoughts, he would never let himself indulge in those delicious, carnal day dreams for too long. Frank knew he shouldn't dwell on things that would never be.

And yet, when he gave into the temptation to bury his face in the slope of your neck, the womanly spice of your skin and clean scent of your hair pleasantly warming his sleep-fogged senses, you reacted as though you were his, sighing gently in slumber and pressing back against him, burrowing further into the circle of his arms. The action put the swell of your ass directly in line with his throbbing hard on, and when you bucked your hips just the slightest, adjusting against him, Frank barely bit back a wicked curse at the searing pleasure that soared through his body in response. _Fuck_ , he'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to feel pleasure from the touch of another; no not just another, not just any woman, _you_ ; and even in sleep you reacted as though you ached for him, as though you desired him, sighing gently and moving closer. Not that it mattered though, he wasn't delusional enough to believe that you'd ever really want him, not in the way that he wanted you; not in the way that had him day dreaming like some randy fucking teenager.

But you did seem to need him, hell, to even _like_ falling asleep in the warmth of his arms, and that was enough for him. So although he ached something fierce, Frank forced himself to ignore it, pushing aside the pleasant arousal pumping through his veins in order to just enjoy the simple comfort of having your warm body next to his. It'd been so long since he'd indulged in little pleasures like this, and for just a moment, just one singular, heart stopping moment, he allowed himself to revel in it.

 _Jesus_ , your body felt so damned nice, so soft and pliant, in his arms. If things were different, if you were really his, Frank would be taking this opportunity to begin waking you, slowly, sensually, with gentle but hungry kisses along the smooth column of your neck, his hands, which were actually placed one behind his head and the other curled safely at your side, would begin an enthusiastic, but masterful exploration of your body, discovering the hills and valleys of your hips, swirling around your waist and just barely dipping to trace your panty covered sex before running back up and curving around your full breasts. Frank would never admit it to anyone, but he was one hundred percent a breast man. A nice ass was great, and certainly didn't hurt, but show him a jaw dropping pair of knockers and Frank would be yours forever.

At least that's how he had been before…

Chancing a sideways glance at you, and getting an eyeful of the generous curves of your full chest that were pressed against the familiar looking t shirt you'd slept in, Frank clenched his teeth and just barely checked the urge to buck his hips up against you. Oh _hell yeah_ , he was still a breast man.

What Frank still couldn't quite believe was exactly how one small slip of a woman had managed to successfully turn him into a horny sixteen year old while simultaneously awakening within him a fierce desire to protect, to serve, that had him doubling his workouts, strengthening his body to better keep you safe. At first Frank had thought that your pull had just come from a longing for contact, for human connection and he still believed that was a catalyst for his attraction, but as he'd gotten to know you and spent more time in your intoxicating presence, Frank had come to realize that it was something else entirely.

Over the past few days you'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Your days were spent cooking, mostly done by Frank, laughing, telling stories, both mostly done by you, and vigorous training. When Frank had inquired about your hand to hand skills you'd quirked your head like an adorable confused puppy, your brow furrowing in obvious mystification as you'd admitted it was nonexistent. Frank had insisted that you learn to defend yourself with both your fists and a small weapon, like a knife. He'd found your skills with guns adequate, though you seemed strangely tight-lipped about exactly how you'd managed to become so proficient. Frank didn't push it, he was just glad that you could protect yourself and, confident that you could take down an assailant with any fire arm, he had turned his attention to your hand to hand training.

While he immensely regretted the small collection of fresh bruises that had unavoidably been added to the plethora of healing contusions on your skin, he was grateful that you were a fast learner, quickly picking up on how to defend yourself against his light-handed but tactically sound blows. Even after training for just a few days you'd managed to nearly take him down, thanks to your meticulous attention to his every word and instruction. But what was more, training with you was _fun._ His lips quirked as he remembered your exasperated sigh when he'd pinned you for the thousandth time that first day, your hands shaking with anger and fatigue as they pushed the sweat soaked hair from of your eyes.

 _'You're too damn big,"_ you'd grated as you rose reluctantly to your feet once more. Frank had just chuckled and reminded you that the center of gravity for the average male was higher in the body, near the chest, and that because you kept going for his hips you'd never take him down. He didn't think he'd ever forget, and he sure has hell hadn't recovered, from the way your sparkling eyes had glittered up at him playfully as you'd replied, _'Oh I'm sure something big between your hips would do a good job taking you down, Frank Castle.'_

He'd coughed into his fist and insisted that you stay focused, but the blatant heat, the naked desire he'd seen in your eyes had sent a ridiculous, intoxicating shard of hope slicing its way into his heart, burrowing deep, apparently intent on staying there, lodged firmly in his chest. Even now, as he gazed down at your peaceful sleeping face, he felt the bite of that shard wreaking havoc within his breast, each nick of that fragile piece of hope against his ravaged heart filling him with contentment and just a hint of apprehension, dare he say even fear. Before he met you he'd been sure that he wasn't afraid of anything, but one small, delicate, fiery female with an irresistible sexiness, haunted eyes and a gentle touch had changed all that.

Suddenly you stirred, no doubt feeling the weight of his gaze on you, and stretched, your lithe form pressing deliciously against Frank's body. He groaned low at the sensual, heated roil of your generous curves against his hard chest and even harder shaft and couldn't, wouldn't, stop the hand he had curled at your side from slipping around your waist, the iron band of his arm dragging you closer. He could've sworn that a sound suspiciously similar to a moan slipped from your lips at that.

"Frank," You groaned, your voice soft and scratchy from sleep, but sexy as hell. There was a faint hint of surprise in your tone, and he couldn't really blame you; he was usually gone by the time you woke up, preparing breakfast in the kitchen or cleaning his guns, but this morning he just hadn't been able to draw himself away. While your days had been busy, your nights had followed a markedly different pattern. Since that first time you'd come to him, frightened and running from some dark nightmare that seemed intent on plaguing you, you'd kept returning, somehow finding a repose from those dark dreams with him. Each night you'd creep into the living room where he was sprawled out on the couch, dozing lightly or at least pretending to, and he'd listen, his heart leaping to his throat as your quiet footsteps drew closer. He'd stay still, his muscles pulled as taught as a live wire, waiting. And then, finally, you'd rasp your fingers over the ridges of his knuckles or down the side of his arm, your touch serving as a silent question, a desperate imploration, and Frank found himself helpless to do anything but respond.

You hadn't cried since that first night, and Frank found himself strangely both relieved and chagrined at that. He _wanted_ to soothe you, to give you some measure of ease, but he knew he wasn't exactly a beacon of warmth anymore. He actually used to be good at consoling women, his wife, his daughter, until they'd all been stolen from him and the world had hardened both his mind and body beyond repair. Still, somehow, you found comfort in the harsh edges of his arms and the grating tones of his voice, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, you could smooth his ragged ends and soothe his raging soul.

You'd sit together in the moon soaked room and he'd listen, quiet, contented, as you told him your fears, your worries, your nightmares. He'd provide what solace he could, nodding in agreement or grinning in solidarity, and when words failed you and your voice caught in your throat, tears beginning to well in your eyes, he'd sweep the hair from your face, tracing the delicate curve of your neck or the high cut of your cheekbones. And sometimes you'd fall into him, and he'd catch you, letting your arms wind around his neck and your face press to his chest, your lips always hovering right over his bleeding heart, the same poor, aching heart that he knew now beat for you. Every night you'd fall asleep there with him, sometimes settled in his lap, sometimes propped up next to him, your head resting on his shoulder. He'd always carry you to his bed when your breaths slowed, deepening and evening out, your features softened in slumber. Somewhere around the third time you'd stirred and asked him to stay with you until you fell back asleep he'd begun climbing in with you out of habit, sleeping through the night and waking at dawn to start his day as you continued to doze quietly.

But this morning was different; he hadn't left, and you had woken early, and now you were sighing gently and arching back into him as Frank ghosted his lips along the place on your neck where your pulse hammered strongest, loving the silky feel of your hair against the corners of his mouth and the hammering of your heart beat against his skin. He hummed low in his throat in response to your lilting repeated exclamation of his name, his breath fanning against the warm skin of your neck, his fingers spreading over the silken skin of your taught stomach, holding you tightly to him. He was painfully aware that his pinky was just barely brushing the top of your panties, and he realized with a start that your legs were blissfully bare beneath the blankets; you were clad in only the sensible black undergarments he'd bought you and one of _his_ shirts, the cloth fitting you more like a dress or a tunic as it lay bunched at your waist. He wasn't quite sure when you'd nabbed it from him, but he found he didn't really mind that much. It probably looked better on you anyway. _Damn_ , he wanted to see you striding towards him in just his t shirt, stripping it slowly from your beautiful form as you neared him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Frank knew that he should stop, that you couldn't really want this with him, that there was no way a beauty like you could desire a beast like him, but _hell_ if the rasp of your ass against his hard cock wasn't heaven itself. He realized with a start that _you_ were pushing back eagerly against _him,_ all but writhing in his arms. _Too much_ , his mind screamed, _tread carefully, pull back_ , but shit he just didn't want to. He'd been too god damn long without this, and if you wanted he'd be absolutely helpless to give.

"Frank," You sighed again, leaning your head back until it rest against his shoulder, the motion exposing more of your graceful neck to him, "Please," You voice was a mere whisper, as delicate the golden rays of morning sunlight that filtered through the window by the bed, this thrumming moment as fragile as Venetian glass in his lethal hands.

Your plea seemed wrong to him; you shouldn't beg for anything, not when he'd gladly give it all to you. The trust in the action of baring your slender, vulnerable neck to him, the need in your voice, the press of your warm, thrumming body against his, it was all too much, it was all too perfect. Was this even real, was this actually happening? Frank found himself searching for something to prove he was dreaming, to confirm his wild, dark suspicions, but there was only pleasure, warm and drowsy and so damn good coursing through his throbbing body, and it scared the shit out of him.

And then his foot caught against the metal baseboard of the bed you were settled in, the cool slick surface jarring him, the ball of his appendage catching on the sharp corner of the post, sending a painful jolt the equivalent of a bolt of lightening coursing through his veins.

As suddenly as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him, he realized the breadth of your intimate position together, the delicious tangle of your legs with his, the slow roll of your hips back against him, the grating huffs of your breath as his fingers stroked teasingly against your flesh. He had to stop this before it was too late, before you did something you'd regret, before you decided to hate him just like everyone else, just like _Karen_. Her venomous last words echoed in his mind; _you're dead to me…_

 _No!_ He couldn't lose you too. Panic bubbled in his mind as he reluctantly tore his body from yours, leaping from the bed as though he'd been burned by the rampant fire running in his veins. He backed away, raising his arms, bowing his head as his hands shook. Distantly, through the roar in his head, he saw you sit up and reach for him, your small, slender fingers stretching, your lilting voice calling him back to you. He had been right; his t-shirt that graced your slender form looked absolutely fucking perfect.

 _Fucking hell,_ as much as he ached, as much as he wanted, he just couldn't go there with you, it was too damn risky. He cared for you, he wanted to protect you, he…needed you. He _needed you_ fiercely, and he just couldn't lose you like everyone else. He'd been fooling himself by thinking that the best way to protect you was to get close to you. He had fooled himself into thinking he wasn't Frank Castle, The Punisher. He was poison, and everything he touched turned to ashes beneath his fingers; he couldn't forget that, not ever.

"Not me," He grated harshly, stumbling away, unable to meet the glint of your familiar gaze, "You don't want me," Jesus, his voice sounded pitiful even to him, the hoarse rasp not helped by the way it broke on the last syllable, "I'm poison," He grated, grabbing a set of clothes that had been thrown haphazardly on the floor and pulled a shirt on in quick, jerky movements. Shoes hastily followed the harsh drag of dirty jeans up his legs, and then he was headed for the door, fighting with himself to not glance back, to not stop and look at your beautiful face, because he knew if he did, he'd be a goner.

"Frank," You called softly, your voice thrumming with want, tinged with an aching understanding and a deep pain that lashed him right down to his black fucking soul.

His hand froze over the doorknob at the sound of your voice, just one second of hesitancy before he said over his shoulder, not daring to look back, "I'm poison," Shit, he wanted to look back, to see you, but he couldn't, he just couldn't have you, "I can't have this, I can't have you. I'm fucking poison."

And then he left, the door to the safe house slamming shut behind him, the echoing crack that rang in his head quickly followed by the harsh claps of gunfire and the shrieks of the dying that he'd been free of since you'd come. For once, he welcomed them; for once, they were louder than his screams.


	6. Chapter 6

Over fourteen hours. It'd been over fourteen hours since Frank had walked out, slamming the door behind him, leaving just the deafening silence that followed his hasty departure and your lust soaked body that was still thrumming from the ghost of his fervent touch. Beneath that throbbing arousal was sharp, biting confusion at the pain in his anguished words. A fierce twinge pulled at your heart when you remembered the haunted gleam in his onyx eyes as he'd drawn away from you and rasped those harsh words; _I'm poison…_

He couldn't truly think that, could he? Frank Castle was many things, but toxic was not one of them. Frank was a man full of contradictions; he was a killer, expertly trained and dangerously determined behind the barrel of a gun, but he was undeniably a good man, with his unwavering loyalty and rock solid sense of justice. He was grumpy as hell, especially before his first cup of coffee, and had a rough exterior that could leave the general observer with a bad taste in their mouth, usually from the tang of their own blood as Frank clocked them in the face, and yet you found him easy to get along with; co-existing with Frank was nearly effortless for you. You'd seen him fresh from a fight, covered in someone else's blood as something wild, savage even, glinted in his dark gaze and the end of his gun smoked ominously. It was truly a harrowing sight, but even the memory of Frank in full bloodlust didn't do anything to diminish your attraction to him. Maybe that just made you fucked up, but hey, who said that he was a paragon of healthy habits either. You and Frank were like two puzzle pieces from different pictures that fit together perfectly, your rough edges suddenly smoothed, your jagged parts fixed. He got your sense of humor and soothed your fears, he filled your days with laughter and grueling workouts, but even for those you were glad; you wanted to be strong enough to stand by his side. He saw the demons lurking behind your eyes and sent his own to scare them off. You were kindred spirits, you and Frank, he had to see that.

Yes, Frank was many things, but poison; that was something he just wasn't. Not for you at least. You _liked_ the pattern you'd fallen into here with him, hell, maybe you simply just liked Frank. You'd sure become accustomed to falling asleep in the warm cocoon of his strong arms, lulled into slumber by the gentle rasp of his breath across your cheekbones and the solid press of his fingers at your waist. Somehow he kept your nightmares away, providing you with much needed sleep, and possibly the deep connection you'd been starving for. That would be, if he ever came back.

Now, as you stood pacing in the small apartment that was serving as a safe house for you and him, you were worried. You knew it was irrational, Frank was the fucking Punisher for god's sake, the man could take care of himself, but you couldn't quite stop the icy fear and biting anxiety that skittered heedlessly down your spine regardless. Frank hadn't seemed to be in the best place when he'd left, and he was something of a loose cannon on a good day, how would he act when he was having a bad one?

You'd replayed the events of the morning in your head over and over since he'd left, searching for some explanation as to what had upset him so much, though you were frequently distracted by the memory of the blissful, solid warmth of his broad chest pressing so perfectly against your back and the blistering heat of his huge palms as they'd wrapped around your waist. _Damn_ , what a way to wake up. While he'd ghosted his mouth along your neck, his lips impossibly soft as they traced your hammering pulse, you'd been prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that he didn't stop. It'd been so incredibly good to finally feel the gentleness, the intimacy, of Frank's touch, his fingers hungry but cautious; seeking, curious and undeniably masterful _._ He knew just where to stroke, where to press, where to thrum those dexterous digits so that you were a mewling mess in his arms. And the raw emotion in his caress, oh hell it almost made you sigh like some virginal school girl. His lustful touch was exactly how you'd imagined it.

You'd be blatantly lying if you said you hadn't thought about Frank in _that_ way, what with his broad shoulders and firm chest that seemed to be begging for your hands to cling to, his full, inviting lips that you could convince to curve into just the smallest of smiles as you recounted one of your wilder college stories, his huge, steady hands and long, firm fingers that occasionally brushed yours, or wrapped around your hips, the warmth from his large palms searing all the way down to your very bones. During your training, as he'd patiently taught you all about hand to hand combat, you'd taken more than one hit just because you'd been too busy ogling his sweat soaked, delicious body to defend yourself.

And his shaft, oh dear lord his shaft; you'd thought about that part of him more that you'd be willing to admit, often in the middle of the night as his hulking, muscled body was pressed up against your own smaller form as you slept beside each other, his hardness just barely brushing your hip when he shifted, unintentionally setting your blood afire. Frank was a big man, so it would logically follow that all parts of him would be large, but you hadn't really gotten a sense of the full scope of his anatomy until this morning, when his impressive erection had been rutting against your ass, throbbing insistently at the small of your back, practically begging you for attention. The only thing that had stopped you from reaching back and grabbing that rock hard shaft in your hungry grasp had been the devastatingly distracting effects of his wicked embrace and his hot breath that fanned so deliciously against your neck. The combination had left you momentarily wholly at his mercy.

Jesus, you could barely suppress the shiver that passed through you as you remembered the press of his teasing hands as they spanned your taught stomach, his fingers just barely brushing the edge of your steadily dampening panties. What you wouldn't have given at that moment for just one piece of wicked lingerie from the extensive collection you kept at your own place; then Frank wouldn't have stopped, he wouldn't have pulled away.

But you were clad in only the simple, practical, slightly frumpy black panties that Frank had generously supplied for you, and Frank _had_ stopped, he _had_ pulled away. The question was, why?

Was it because Frank was older than you? Had he been freaked out by the slight difference of your ages? You weren't exactly sure how old he was, but honestly you didn't give a damn. After all the shit you'd been through, all the obstacles and trials you'd faced, you were more than ready for a man like Frank. And if anything, his age, his experience, his maturity only attracted you more to him. You'd always liked older guys, with their suave charm and glinting gazes that promised a wealth of knowledge that younger men, boys really, didn't possess. It was the way they knew just how to keep you hooked with that tantalizing cocktail of refreshing honesty, no nonsense emotion and intrigue. Frank was an expert at playing the mystery card, making you wonder constantly about him, each small tidbit of information you gleaned about him only fueling your burning curiosity. But did Frank see your budding relationship, your undeniable chemistry, that way, as a good thing? Your pert ass and tight body certainly hadn't seemed to diminish Frank's erection in the slightest, and if he really was put off by your age difference he wouldn't have brushed his lips against your skin, kissing along your neck lustfully as he'd dragged you closer to him. Still perplexed, but a little bit more satisfied, you crossed that possibility off your mental list.

Suddenly a horrible, gut wrenching thought flitted through your mind, making you freeze where you were pacing in the kitchen, your hands flying to cover your mouth and your heart twisting painfully in your chest. In his sleepy, aroused state, had Frank thought that you were his late wife? Was that why he was rubbing against you as though he was hungry for your body, as though he wanted to learn its curves and swells? Damn, that thought hurt much more than you were comfortable with. You didn't expect him to forget his family, you didn't want him too, but the idea that he'd mistaken you for his dead spouse made you feel slightly nauseous. But no, you reminded yourself hastily, it was _your_ name that he had rasped against your skin as he ran his lips over your neck, the sound seeming to be ripped from his throat unwittingly as he'd clutched you tightly to him. He'd been strictly in the present moment, wanting your body pressed to his, wanting his lips on your skin. A bit more comforted, but no less anxious, you slumped against the counter, watching the sun slowly sink below the Hell's Kitchen skyline.

 _Damn_ , you hated waiting like this, wondering, driving yourself crazy with 'what ifs'. What you wouldn't give at this moment for your specially ordered, pimped out laptop right now to supply you with an endless supply of witless distraction. You'd made due so far with Frank's supplies and his generous purchases for you, but it was getting more difficult to get by without your own belongings, namely your hacker gear. You wanted to keep eyes on the Russians at all times, and to do that you needed your own equipment. You were quickly realizing that you'd need to make a trip to your apartment; a very dangerous move. But now was not the time to think about that, right now you needed to calm your mind, to relax, and most importantly to stop thinking about Frank and his impossibly soft lips that had rasped against your skin and his hard body that had pressed so deliciously against yours. What you needed, you decided then, what you had readily at your disposal, was a drink; just a nip to calm your nerves and quell your rootless suspicions.

You reached for the quarter empty bottle of whiskey on the counter and, after deeming there to be more than enough liquid courage left for you to get sufficiently sloshed, you took a generous gulp. It felt good, punishing but crisp as it scorched down your throat, so you took another sip. And then another. The whiskey was cheap, and tasted like it, but you easily ignored the not-so-subtle hint of ass in the aftertaste for the pleasant buzz you were beginning to feel.

Bottle in hand, you hummed softly to yourself as you wandered around the apartment, the speed and fervor of your movements significantly lessened from your earlier pacing's. Your thoughts came slower and were softer, less concentrated, giving you the peace of mind you'd craved. Suddenly, as you leaned against the window overlooking the vivid sunset, taking another hearty gulp of whiskey, it struck you just what a Spartan existence Frank really lived. You studied the apartment with new eyes, as if seeing it for the first time, now free of the anxiety and shock that had kept you from really studying the place after your rescue.

It was sparsely furnished, not surprising when you really didn't figure Frank to be the type of person who gave a damn about interior decorating, but it was undeniably homey. The door to the apartment opened into a small living room filled with a just well-worn, but comfortable couch and a beaten up, stained coffee table. That couch was were Frank would stretch his big body and try, or pretend, to sleep when you came to him at night, after your nightmares inevitably woke you. Your lips quirked when you thought of the sympathy and deep understanding that would flash across Frank's shadowed face when your eyes met, no explanation needed anymore. Frank wordlessly understood.

The wall to the left of the furniture was filled with the windows you were now leaning against, the paned glass filtering in patches of glowing sunlight that splayed across the tartan upholstery of the sofa, making new patterns against the faded grain. The kitchen was a few paces away from the living room, and next to the faux marble countertops was a small square table nearly overflowing with illegally acquired police scanners and various other Punisher paraphernalia, with two mismatched chairs positioned casually by its chipped edges. Mostly empty cabinets sat above the stove and oven, next to the fridge, and held just enough cups, plates and cutlery for you and Frank to comfortably use.

The bed room was parallel to the kitchen, and was easily your favorite room. A surprisingly large and comfortable mattress was settled on a simple frame and set against a wall, leaving most of the room clear besides a sturdy dresser and nightstand. Because of the way that the bedroom was adjoined to the kitchen, the windows, which lacked shades, let in all of the sunlight that shone strongly through the small apartment, illuminating the simple, but comfortable space. You were growing very used to being gently woken by the pleasant rays of the bright morning sun. It was a welcome boon after being locked in such a damp, dark place with those horrible men for so long. And if Frank continued to wake you up with his large steady hands curving around your waist and his husky, sleep stained voice at your ear, that cold prison he'd rescued you from would soon be a long distant memory.

That stray thought of Frank had you sighing, leaning heavily against the dresser in the bedroom as you examined the large bed before you. Just a mere fourteen hours ago, in that very bed, Frank's warm, hulking, deliciously muscled body had been pressed against your own small form, and his large, sure hands had been on you, touching, exploring, pulling you closer. You sighed again and took another hearty gulp of whiskey, welcoming the sharp burn that slid down your throat with a light wince. You were just about to move to the bathroom, perhaps to draw a nice, hot bath for your drunk ass, when your leg caught on a dresser drawer that had been left slightly ajar and you stumbled, loosing an incredibly unladylike curse and teetering dangerously. As you righted yourself, your gaze was immediately drawn to the wayward drawer that was filled with Frank's clothes, and you couldn't stop yourself from reaching inside with your free hand to grab a faded black t-shirt that lay crumpled atop the disorganized tangle of cloth within. Figures that the big, bad Punisher wouldn't bother to fold his clothes; he was too busy kicking ass and taking names, after all. Smiling, you brought the soft, worn fabric to your lips, breathing in the light scents of sweat and soap that had been ingrained in the material. Beneath them there was something else, something that whispered of gunpowder and leather and was so deliciously _Frank_ that your heart suddenly pounded in your chest. You'd caught a hint of that exact, tantalizing spice on his skin just this morning as his lips had brushed your throat and you'd leaned back into him, arching to his touch.

 _Damnit_ , this wasn't helping! How were you supposed to function when all you could think of was Frank? Of his wicked, teasing hands spanning your waist, his brawny chest curving around your back, his bright, heart wrenching smile and his dark, intense eyes that seemed to see right into your very soul. Damn, you loved his eyes. Wait, his eyes! Your alcohol soaked mind started to race, hastily digging up all the fragments of this morning that'd you'd been studiously trying to ignore. It'd been all over his expression, the obvious hint you'd missed, but it was strongest in his gaze. Frank's deep, soulful eyes had been tinged with reluctance as he'd slipped his hands from your body and a healthy hint of arousal as his heated gaze had raked over your form, but mostly they had been filled with _fear_. Frank Castle was afraid. How had you missed it, the emotion had been loud and clear, and now that you realized its depth, you understood everything; his intense arousal and erratic behavior, followed quickly by his hasty departure. Frank was afraid to go there with you, he was afraid you'd run away, that he'd lose you just like he had everyone else. But you knew the truth; you couldn't leave even if you wanted too. That fierce, scarred, magnificent man had burrowed deep under your skin, so deep that you knew he'd always be a part of you, and you simply wouldn't, couldn't, live without him.

Now that you'd identified the problem, one with an easy solution, and had enough whiskey in your system to make you embarrassingly brave, your mood improved exponentially. You knew Frank had to come back to the apartment at some point, and you'd sure as hell be ready for him when he did. All you had to do was prove to him that you weren't going anywhere, that you were here to stay, through both good and bad, no matter what; that you wanted him, that it was okay for him to want you too. And, you decided as a wicked grin curved your lips and you began to strip your boring gray top and faded jeans from your body, clutching Frank's worn t shirt in your hand, you'd use all the tools at your exposal to do so.

* * *

Thank you all for the kind comments! I'm glad you've enjoyed this fic, I'll update as often as I can, thank you!


End file.
